


The Room of Mother's Lament

by CD64



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:54:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24086200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CD64/pseuds/CD64
Summary: Alternate ending of Robert's Rebellion, Rhaegar and Robert are both dead and with an unsuccessful Sacking of King's Landing, it leaves the remaining Targaryen women to rule. To ease the tensions, a marriage between Lyanna Stark and Oberyn Martell was agreed upon by the North and South, a marriage that some hoped would create a tether of peace between the North and the South- if only, it had not ended so abruptly.
Relationships: Catelyn Stark/Ned Stark, Lyanna Stark/Rhaegar Targaryen, Oberyn Martell/Lyanna Stark
Comments: 39
Kudos: 134





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A crack story in the sense, that would they have ever left the Targaryen women and children alone, let alone rule? Nah. This little piece has nowhere the intricacy and depth of Game of Thrones (except for Season 8, aye!) because I didn't want to think too hard about it. Enjoy!

I.

People have started to spread rumors that the Martells have been cursed. Oberyn could understand why. The room had been left as it were, in its chaotic mess. Broken furniture and dried blood splattered everywhere; the maids were too scared to enter. In fact, people were afraid of this tower, in general, now. For who would want to hear those cries that echoed through the room and carried around the halls.

He did not know how this could happen. Several years in his training and travels, in Westeros and across Essos, had never placed him to encounter something like this, especially within the comfort of his own home in Dorne.

Oberyn was standing outside the room, hand resting on the handle, when a maid timidly made her way to him.

“My Prince, your good-brother, Lord Stark of Winterfell has arrived.”

He stood for a moment longer and watched as his hand slipped away from the knob. Oberyn turned and followed the girl, most likely to Doran’s solar.

II.

Doran Martell observed the Lord of Winterfell as they waited for his younger brother.

The man’s rumored countenance was most definitely there, stoic and impenetrable, but for the trained eye, he could see the factions of warring emotions, sadness, guilt, exhaustion, confusion, and fury.

All of which could be explained.

Sadness for what has occurred to his sister. Despite the fact, that everybody in the realm knew they were no longer on speaking terms. He had watched as his good-sister sent raven after raven to the North with no correspondence returned. After a while, she stopped but the redness in her eyes was always there after every visit to the tower where the ravens were kept.

Guilt. Doran supposed for neglecting to respond to the letters, for not choosing to mend the burnt bridges between them. That was a weight that was heavily settled on the shoulders of the man, aging him prematurely.

Lord Eddard Stark was exhausted. He had traveled to Dorne in such haste that he had left no room for rest or sleep. Doran was surprised, he had arrived unusually quickly.

The man was confused. So was Doran, since he himself did not know how it was possible. That the echoes of Lyanna’s cries still rang through the room, again and again. He knew that the servants whispered and that had spread, it was not a good reputation for Dorne to have.

Maybe this was Dorne’s punishment. They did not receive Lady Lyanna too kindly and Doran did not do anything to circumvent the people’s wrath against her. Too be honest, he himself was indifferent to her. Or because of this, maybe it was _his_ punishment.

There was anger within the lord as well. Now that was what had Doran wondering. At himself, Doran, Oberyn, or all of Dorne itself?

They sat in silence, Lord Eddard Stark held the goblet, filled with delicious Dornish Red, in a white-knuckled grip. The steps of another person arriving turned both their attentions.

Oberyn.

III.

Eddard Stark followed Oberyn Martell to the tower that contained Lyanna’s and Jon’s chambers.

An overwhelming sorrow and guilt churning violently inside him. He was afraid. He thought the rumors as silly fables the people had spread, but the letter from Oberyn, sincere and direct wrote to clarify it was no jest and to come down to see for himself.

If he had known he would lose her like this...no, he should have been kinder to his sister. It was difficult, to know that she had gone willingly with that man, to willingly set aside her honor to her family...their brother and father and numerous others paying for her foolish choices. But they weren’t hers alone to bear, no, Prince Rhaegar had to carry his own blame in this as well, if only he was still alive. And despite her choices, she had been young and foolish. As much as he loved his older brother, he had also been reckless in the manner he had gone to the king.

“Ned, please forgive me. I was foolish but I regret the choice I made the moment we had left. I _begged_ him to take me back. Please, let me return to Winterfell with you. Let me go back _home_ , brother.”

Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell instead had accepted the betrothal between Lyanna Stark and Oberyn Martell, a feeble truce to mend the ties between the fractured kingdoms.

Ned also remembered her last letter.

_‘...this shall be my final letter, Ned...Jon’s grown into a wonderful child of three, eager and curious of the world around him...he’s a quiet boy, he reminds me so much of you...there’s only so many times I can ask for your forgiveness. It hurts for me to finally realize that I will never have it...I will always love you, my dearest Ned.  
Lyanna_

What Ned should have done was pen a reply to the letter, instead the paper ended up in the open flames of the hearth. He was now walking in the halls of Sunspear with regret.

He did not know how many times Catelyn had gently urged him to reply. Ned should have known by now how fleeting life was. The vast amount of their fellow Northern men now deceased; just like Brandon and their father, forever resting within the crypts. The fields of battle bathed in blood and filled with bodies of men who never returned home. And now hers too, wherever her remains laid.

Ned asked Catelyn once why she continued to champion for his sister when he didn’t bother responding to her letters, her only response to his query had been ‘family, duty, honor.’

What remained of their family was spread all over Westeros. Benjen at the wall, Lyanna in Dorne, and him, with the ghosts of the past in Winterfell. And yet, in any moment, he could not find it within himself to extend an olive branch to his only sister. And now it was _too_ late.

Ned stopped as Oberyn finally directed him to the closed door that lead to Lyanna’s chamber. From here he could hear the muffled screams, they were agonizing and heart wrenching to hear.

He looked at Oberyn, he’s only seen the man less than a handful of times. At the tourney at Harrenhal, and a few instances at the Red Keep before Lyanna and him were married in Dorne. To Ned, the man seemed out of his element for once. It was well hidden, and he might have missed it if it weren’t for the man’s hand on the handle of the door, contemplating in entering the rooms.

“This is-I wouldn’t.” Ned watched Oberyn frown, staring straight ahead. With a troubled sigh, he continued. “I did not love your sister, but this isn’t something that I would wish for on anyone.”

“But someone from Dorne did.”

At this Oberyn brought his gaze to meet his. “We don’t know.”

Oberyn gripped the handle harder. “We don’t hurt children here.”

“And yet here we are.”

Ned walked through the door and straight to the one that lead to the sleeping chambers.

It was a bloody mess.

The linens on the bed spread in disarray, soaked in blood. There was splatters of it too and yet, that wasn’t the horrific part of this chaos.

It was Lyanna’s voice that was somehow left imprinted in the room. It gave people an idea as to what might have occurred that night. It was a mother being attacked and yet found the resilience in herself to protect her babe, to beg for him.

_‘Who are you?’ Step away from him!’_

Cries of a child could be heard all around. Those of Jon. The last Ned had seen of him was when he was a babe, small and perfect. A quiet babe that had turned into a quiet toddler.

_‘What are you doing? Stop!’_

_‘No, please, no. Not Jon! Don’t hurt him!’_

There was a scream of pain a few moments later and then it started again. What _kind_ of magic was this? Ned felt so out of place, with nothing more than his sister’s scream accompanying him. Every scream a lash to his heart and the meager breakfast he had earlier that day threatened to come back up.

IV.

_Eleven Years Later:_

Elia watched her children as they broke their fast. Just yesterday Aegon and Rhaenys were mere babes. They were now at the ages were betrothals and marriage would soon occur, it would have been far sooner had she not circumvented the greedy ambitions of some lords.

She was aware that Mace Tyrell wanted one of his children to marry into the royal family, his ambitions being highly known. His daughter for Aegon or Rhaenys for his heir. Elia wanted to at least be thorough and get a semblance of all the eligible girls that would be potential candidates as the next Queen.

And yes, she even considered the daughters of Winterfell as well. Elia did well not to think of the Starks for it always led her thoughts to Lyanna. To, as many people would whisper, the _other_ woman.

She did not hate her, but she did not like her former good-sister either. Too be frank, she did not know what she felt about her. It was painful, to hear of her husband running away with another woman but the girl had been young and impressionable and when she heard of her being found with a child, she did fear for her own. Some of that fear abated into pity as she heard from Varys of her ardent pleadings to her older brother to be returned home. Whatever eagerness she had at the beginning of the war was no longer there. Elia had seen the shadows under her eyes. She felt like that too at times in the early days of her marriage, the Red Keep was a far different environment than that of Dorne. Elia would have been in agony had her own brothers would look at her with the cold face that Lord Eddard would look at his sister.

For stoic faces, Lord Eddard Stark could’ve won against Lord Tywin Lannister.

They married her off to Oberyn, furious as he was to be wed, he knew some delicate strings of peace had to be made; he just hated it had to be him and with her.

And then what happened at Sunspear happened and she again was thrust into a pool of emotions she did not know what to make of.

Elia knew the people of Dorne would not be welcoming but to do whatever it was that happened; she would not know what to do with that knowledge if it had been one of them. Although the sentiment of the people in Dorne did change towards the wife of their prince, they felt empathy for what remained in that tower yet a few moons before they were cursing Lyanna’s name. Elia frowned, how easily the masses were swayed.

After no suspicions of any Dornish lord arose, people whispered about her. They never accused her outright, but speculation was there in people’s eyes. And then there was a moment where she did catch two women gossiping about it.

_‘Do you think the queen had a hand in what occurred at Sunspear?’_

_‘She’s from there. Who’s to say that she didn’t have someone from there to do it and the other lords would simply keep hush. You know how much they disliked the marriage between her and Prince Martell when the betrothal was announced.’_

_‘It also takes away the threat that the other child could have been to Her Grace’s children.’_

The rumors grew to the point, that one day Rhaella asked her about it. Elia did feel anger there, at being accused by her own mother-by-law but then again, if she would see this situation from someone else’s eyes she would be suspicious of herself too. But she didn’t have a hand in it and she, herself, was shocked at the news.

And more so at what Oberyn had written to her of what remained, nothing more than the echoes of a mother crying for her son. It was disturbing, she herself had been in that position too. Her children and her could’ve died had it not been for the timely and honorable intervention of Lord Stark and his men. She wondered if he agonized over that a bit; able to save her but not his sister.

The echoes of her good-sister lingered in the chambers for several long years until, one day, they stopped. Elia could not discern if the change in Oberyn was a good thing or not. Oh, he still cavorted around and followed his sexual appetite wherever it led him but his eyes tightened every time at the mention of his deceased wife and stepson.

From what she knew of their marriage, Oberyn didn’t love her but he also grew to not hate her.

“You Grace.”

Elia looked up from her untouched plate of food and looked at Lord Varys. She never knew where his ambitions led his loyalty. But he was able to gather the much needed rumors and secrets of the realm that have kept her family safe for now.

“There are several letters that need to be discussed.”

Elia sighed, matters of the realm never ended. She stood up and they began their walk around the gardens, a perfect place to speak without any worry of spies. The sun was shining brightly, and clear skies showed that it would be a beautiful day.

“We have received another letter from the Wall asking for more recruits and supplies.”

She frowned at this; they had already sent men two moons ago. She beckoned for him to continue.

“The numbers of the men of the Nights Watch is slowly dwindling, a lot of disappearances have been occurring.”

“Wildings?”

“Could be so, but from what I have heard from my little birds, there has also been an increasing amount who have deserted; they also seem to be undeterred by the fate they know would be coming to them from the men of the North.”

“So, they are asking for death?”

“Who knows, but there are also men who simply disappear as if they have vanished into the very snow.”

It was a worrying thought, but a problem that was leagues away from them at the moment.

“Supplies, we can send but recruits will be much more difficult to give.”

With a concurring nod, Varys continued on to other various aspect of the realm. Tedious and daily work that were necessary to be done for the good of the realm, those she would leave for Aegon, to help ease him into more responsibility.

“I have heard an interesting rumor spreading throughout Essos.”

“And what is that?” Elia was not aware that they had to worry of any threats from across the sea, not that there couldn’t be one.

“It is about the eldest son of the woman fighter in Mereen.”

Elia knew of the only prominent one and assumed that was the one Varys was inferring to. A few years ago, news had spread that a woman had risen in the fighting pits, a former hired help of a wealthy merchant; some described her as pale as the moonlight and dark of hair. Her eye color was disputed amongst the men here, rich and poor going from brown to purple to green and in some instances-a few had said a shade of grey. She was confused of what the son had anything to do with the affairs in Westeros.

“She has two, doesn’t she?”

Elia also heard of her children, two sons that were far different in looks- the eldest took after her pale and dark of hair, the other had bronzed skin, black hair, and eyes. For a few instances, she had her suspicions of that female warrior, but none were ever confirmed.

“The older one has come into possession of three dragon eggs.”

At those words, Elia felt that suspicion grow again, a lot stronger than ever before. The thought of the coincidences growing, and she wondered what Varys was leading to.

“The dragons eggs found are surely petrified ones, for real dragons are no more.”

Varys halted in his steps and turned his complete focus on her instead of the view of the boundless sea, azure and clear, which he usually did, as if he could see what was happening in Essos.

“That’s what brings me to inform you of this event, Your Grace, rumors have it that the eggs have hatched; that the boy is in possession of three living dragons.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three new people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I've stated before, definitely no complexity to this work. So there will be plot bunnies, that I've ignored.

I.

_Winter is coming, indeed._

Rhaenys stood on the deck of the ship, looking out but knowing that they were still far away to see any sign of land. She quickly glanced towards her right were in the other side of the ship stood the eldest child of the North. With hair as red as fire and eyes of a startlingly blue, he did not look much like a typical Stark at all, but he carried that same stoic countenance as his ancestors. A child with the look of the South but the demeanor of the North. She heard that all of them had taken after their mother, except for the second daughter that bore a strikingly resemblance to her late aunt.

Rhaenys had imagined what Lyanna Stark looked like and only had a clearer picture when her eyes had finally laid on Lord Edward Stark of Winterfell. She had grown up with the whispers of her half-brother and his mother always within ear distance, the conjectures of their fate dissected by many of the realm. It was an unavoidable aspect of her childhood, the mystery that lingered and loomed from what happened in Dorne. An anomaly that became an unsolved puzzle with only the whispers of many as its conclusion. Having spent time there, she had often passed by the tower with her cousins, the door looking ominous and yet calling to her curiosity. And that was what mostly beckoned her, not anger or frustration for what had occurred before that led to Lyanna Stark ending up in Dorne when she was a child, but a curiosity of what had happened in that room. The screams that many heard in the chambers of the former wife of Prince Oberyn Martell.

She had almost come close to opening the door once, the metal of the door handle warming from the heat that was given from the palm of her hand. The screams that had lingered in the room were no longer there, having disappeared a few years prior and everyone not knowing how it was feasible to begin with. And yet that final tug to open the door never happened, too scared when she heard the scuttling of a maid nearby. She always told herself that she had been scared off but something within her knew she was scare of what she would see inside.

Unlike her brother, she remembered her father and those memories that often filled her with sorrow and mourning as a child were now washed with confusion as she grew older. She looked again at Robb Stark and wondered what it was like for him, growing up with what happened to his cousin and aunt and if the same shadows that loomed over her, sometimes smothered him too.

She sighed, taking in a nice breath of sea air. It was not the time for ruminations about the past but what was to come for them all, and Rhaenys could still not believe what Lord Stark had brought to King’s Landing. Asking for an audience with her brother, he began with stories of creatures from ancient tales of winter coming back for them all. She had her hands in a white-knuckle grip listening to Lord Stark and goose flesh arising on her skin just hearing his appeal, spoken in a gravelly voice filled with strength and severity. She had heard truth and sincerity in his voice before he had even brought out the proof that they brought, which was one of those nefarious creatures. Ugly, decrepit, and decayed; it was a sight that was nightmare inducing, the piercing shrieks that it released and the savage zeal in its movements to reach new flesh.

Her brother quickly called for all the banners of the realm. And yet, the Seven Kingdoms was still recovering from Viserys’ betrayal and so here she was...on a ship with Ser Jaime Lannister, Uncle Oberyn, and Robb Stark to acquire more men for the fight against the Others.

She glanced backwards towards were Ser Jaime and her uncle were speaking...more like discussing quite furtively of things she couldn’t quite catch. Her uncle still had a vibrancy for life and time had barely made any effect to his face- he looked well for his age and yet his eyes told a different thing. Rhaenys often wondered if the dark look in his eyes was obtained from the chaotic ending of his brief and only marriage. She knew it was a touchy subject, to ask about her younger half-brother, not just because of her mother but her uncle as well. For one full of confidence and infinite zest of life, his renowned temper rose with any mention of his deceased wife. Even Ellaria, had not been able to get him to speak of what happened between him and Lyanna Stark and their short union.

Rhaenys knew her uncle had come to care for them, most easily of course, Jon. Her uncle, despite his quick and vitriolic temper, was able to differentiate the sins of the father from the son, and so she knew he had seen Jon as nothing more as a mere innocent of all that had happened. According to her Uncle Doran, who she had only asked once about Jon, had said that he was a quiet babe so unlike the fiery personalities that Rhaenys and Aegon had; unnaturally quiet for one so young and looked more like the North than the shared blood that she had with him. That was something she had shared with Jon- despite their father’s blood running through their veins they had taken more after their mothers, leaving all the Targaryen to Aegon.

II.

Robb Stark took another quick glance at the princess and quickly diverted his eyes when he saw her staring back. He focused instead on looking out towards the sea. His grip on the railing tightening at a strong sway, he still wasn’t sure about leaving his father and the others to accompany this party to attain hired help. He was still uneasy about leaving Winterfell after the recent rebellions within the North itself that were instigated by the Boltons and the death of Rickon. It had been years since it was stamped out but the paranoia and the scars from the battles still lingered and he often wondered and watched which one of the lords would betray his family next. He understood now why the mad king had imagined enemies everywhere, understood but never to the circumstances and madness that had led to the death of his grandfather and uncle...then later on to the ones of his aunt and his cousin.

He wondered if she too saw their connection to each other through their deceased relation. Or did she curse the very brief existence of Jon?

It was not difficult for his thoughts to go towards his only cousin and his late aunt in the presence of their other side of the family. How could he not, when the halls of Winterfell are haunted by her existence along with an internal sadness his father carried within himself. They all carried those ghosts within them, and he worried if that is how he’ll remember Rickon too. Robb never asked his father about her or Jon despite his curiosity, only gathering revealing crumbles of her from his Uncle Benjen. According to him, she looked like Arya and yes, he had often heard whispers from the older servants of the uncanny resemblance between them. Her temperament was like that of Arya as well, but he also had heard from Old Nan, that Sansa had a resemblance to her too, in her love of music and tales of romance. 

Thoughts of his aunt brought him to look over at his ‘uncle’ by marriage, Oberyn Martell. He frowned, not sure what to make of the man. In some perverse corner of his mind, he wondered if the man had anything to do with the death of his wife. Everyone was aware of the inauspicious beginning of the marriage between Lady Lyanna Stark and the Red Viper. And yet, his father had never held a grudge against the man for the incident. Robb questioned if he would have acted like his father in that regard, if he wouldn’t have investigated the bizarre circumstances of his sister’s death. Or maybe his father had been too tired of war and conflict at that point that he just accepted her death as what it was has become to be widely accepted as- a mere, freak accident.

Robb had trouble believing that screams could linger with such clarity as those of his aunt, he wondered what kind of dark magic could make that possible. He would not have believed it, if it were not for the simple notion that his father had gone to Dorne himself to see. The only time he had asked about them was towards his mother and it was about what father had seen. Screams and blood was the only reply he had gotten from her and a stern warning not to bring it up near his father and that was that. He pondered if he could ask Oberyn about his aunt and cousin, brief as their cohabitation was, it was more than he ever had with them.

Robb was still unsure of who the man was and the brief moments he had spoken with him were shallow unimportant exchanges or talks that mostly focused on the battle against the undead. At the thought of those icy blue creatures, he clenched his hands against the railing again. This was an enemy that could not be negotiated with or bestow any mercy onto them. An enemy that did not care for names and titles and old allegiances that threatened all of them. For the sake of his family, he hoped that this would end well.

III.

Jaime Lannister was bored. This trip was _exhaustingly_ boring, and he cursed the gods, old and new, that he had been chosen to go with the party to Essos when he should have stayed and helped the preparations occurring throughout Westeros; anything was better than being stuck in a ship for months heading to Astapor.

Of course, all his cursing came to lash back at him when he awoke in the middle of the night with a fire blazing through the ship. With quick movements, he gathered his sword and stepped out the room, his first step was locating the princess in her chambers. He felt a sense of unease in his belly, as he got closer and cursed the timing of the pirates and that they coincided with his chosen night off. That dread churned a turmoil in the pit of his stomach when he saw no sign of her in her room.

“Rhaenys?!”

Jaime turned around at the sound of Oberyn coming to a stop in the entrance looking at him for answers.

“Not here.”

With Rhoynish curses slipping through Oberyn’s lips, they both gathered their wits and headed towards the deck. It was a grisly scene, one that Jaime was used too, filled with men dying and blood scattered everywhere. For a moment, relief filled him at the sight of Rhaenys, whole and hale for the most part, since he could see her donning a small cut across her cheek and a shortsword in her hands. Robb Stark was next to her, guarding her along with his freak of a pet wolf and for once, he was quite glad the boy had brought the beast. Judging by the bloodied muzzle, the wolf had already done its fair share of fighting.

Jaime and Oberyn fought their way over to them, making quick work of the men standing in their way.

“Captain is dead,” Robb informed them.

Jaime looked around and saw more men swinging onto their ship from the other. The odds were not looking good for them. Their ship looked like it had a few hours before it would eventually sink and that was even if they were able to fight off the pirates completely.

 _Seven hells._ Jaime never really thought he would die on a ship. And he was more annoyed at the gods, old and new, than before; maybe next time, he should complain less.

If Jaime were a more pious man, he would be speaking ululations of praise at whatever deity had saved them from their predicament. Wrapped in a blanket, it was now the freezing hours of the mornings, standing on a brother ship of the one they had been on. Having been close to being overrun by the pirates, the other ship had come upon the scene and rescued them and the remaining survivors, driving the pirates into the deadly grasp of the ocean depth.

Jaime was still high-strung and wired from the fight, an unease that took a while to ebb away and as he looked over his shoulder, he noticed that it was something that the Stark boy experienced too. The heir of Winterfell was slowly cleaning his sword sitting on a barrel with his wolf at his side.

The sound of one of the cabin boys who had assisted in helping to heal and feed the injured was currently speaking with the captain. He looked over and saw it was the one that had given him a blanket and Jaime looked at the boy again. There was something familiar about him, but Jaime could not tell from where. If he was frank, he had the coloring of Dorne, but the long face reminded him of someone else. He glanced back at Robb and noticed that he too, was staring at him too. Maybe Jaime was curious of him because the boy shared the same trait as his brother, of having two different eye color. One of them being dark but it was the other one, that brought his curiosity; it was a smoky grey found in the dark sky during a storm.

They docked, a few days later in Mereen, another problem they currently faced; having been saved by a ship that was heading towards a different destination. Jaime, quite frankly, did not care that they were in the wrong place as long as he was able to stand on firm land again. And as what was left of their party paid their dues to the captain for saving them, they made their way off the ship when they heard a cry of anger.

“Artos!”

Jaime couldn’t understand the language, but he definitely could infer from it; watching as a woman around his age, lithe, lean, and dark of hair with a sword on her hip, made her way to the cabin boy that had held his curiosity. The boy looked thoroughly chastised and the uneasy smile he had to ease his mother’s wrath, and Jaime was certain that was her relation to him, did not help. It was rather funny too, since the boy towered over her and yet he feared the woman- Jaime briefly pondered if that would have been him too in that situation if his own had lived. It was not until the woman had finished her rant with a huff, did she cross her arms and began to walk away did Jaime see her face. And gathering from the choked sound that escaped Oberyn Martell and the looks of query from both Robb Stark and Rhaenys Targaryen did Jaime realize that he was not the only one who had seen Lyanna Stark leading the boy away.

And the features that Jaime had noticed before, the long face and grey eye brought forth the face of Lord Eddard Stark. He could easily see the resemblance _now_.

Ser Jaime Lannister was no longer bored for things had just taken an _interesting_ turn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I definitely had difficulty with Jaime's POV. I apologize for any mistakes, I did this one pretty quickly, not knowing when would be the next time I would have time.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh yeah, and a bout of unexplained magic.


End file.
